


til the day's end

by elanoides



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon, Stargazing, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role), background Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe, specifically the Geminid meteor shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanoides/pseuds/elanoides
Summary: Miriam’s been in her new house just long enough to plan a housewarming party. It’s small, as a housewarming party goes. But everyone she loves is in one room, and that’s more than enough tonight.[or: Miriam, Arabella, and moments of hope.](An exchange gift for AliyaRegatti!)
Relationships: Miriam Landisman/Arabella Whitlock
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: Yee-Hawligays Undeadwood Fic Exchange





	til the day's end

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliyaRegatti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliyaRegatti/gifts).



> This is a gift for Aliyaregatti on the UnDeadwood Discord for the holiday fic exchange! Hope you like it, and happy holidays!! 
> 
> Title from “In Our Bedroom After The War” by Stars. “All the living are dead, and the dead are all living / The war is over, and we are beginning...”

Winter comes early to Deadwood, and it does so with a vengeance. The ground is frozen solid after the first night of frost. As the days become shorter, the hills above the valley turn blue with shadow more often than not. The wind grows thick with frost that burns the throat and eyes.

Miriam, for her part, hasn’t gotten used to South Dakota winters. Beautiful as the snow-drenched hills may be, she prefers a warm room with a blazing hearth fire and enough conversation to drown out the howling wind. So it’s lucky that she has exactly that tonight.

She’s been in her new house just long enough to plan a housewarming party. It’s small, as a housewarming party goes—just her friends, the girls from the Bella Union and the Gem, and a handful of other Deadwood residents. But everyone she loves is in one room, and that’s more than enough tonight.

“Miriam!” Arabella calls above the low hum of conversation, and she turns from laying another log on the fire to see Joanie and Arabella both looking over at her.

Joanie waves and calls, “I was asking about your lovely home!”

“One moment!” Miriam tells them, smiling, and shifts the screen back to cover the hearth. On her way across the room, she passes Aloysius, Katie, and Whitney deep in conversation with Clayton and Matthew. Those two stand within reach of each other, as they have been lately—never quite touching, but always close enough to. She’s glad for it, for both of them.

Miriam takes an armchair beside the couch Joanie and Arabella are sharing, and Joanie says, “I just wanted to ask how you designed the house. I know you had it built from the ground up, of course, and it’s lovely.”

“It wasn’t me,” Miriam explains. “I can’t draw at all, but I told Arabella what I wanted, and she designed it for me.”

Arabella has a much better eye for architecture than she does. Miriam simply described the layout she wanted, from the kitchen and guest rooms to the foyer and the garden, and Arabella measured it out, aligned walls and doorways, diagrammed windows and front steps and a hearth.

“You have a very clear idea of what you want,” Arabella had said once, late at night, over a glass of whiskey in Miriam’s hotel room. She had been sketching a mantelpiece for the past half hour, smooth and elegant, but wide enough to stack bottles and wreaths on. Miriam looked at it and saw—

“Yes,” she said. “It’s rather like my old house. In Cheyenne.” She traced her fingers over the plan of the living room. “Not exactly like it. Not at all, in some places, I suppose.” She’d moved the bedroom, for one thing, so that it would be set back from the street. The porch and the guest rooms were entirely new. But it looked like that old house. Unless that was wishful thinking.

“It’s bigger,” she said, after a moment. “The living room certainly is. We didn’t entertain at the house. We were always out. But I think...” She trailed off, looking at the plans. “I need more space in my home now.” She chuckled. “Now that I’m living alone.”

Arabella was looking at her with something she couldn’t name—understanding or pity or shared grief, or all of it together. “You deserve a home that’s yours,” she said.

“Thank you,” Miriam said, and reached across the table to squeeze Arabella’s hand. “Thank you, darling.”

And in the end, after all the planning and designing and lying awake remembering, she’s proud of the house. She says so to Joanie, who nods in agreement. “It really is beautiful. Both of you did an amazing job.” She turns to Arabella—“I might have to ask you to help us remodel the Bella Union.”

“Unless you want walls knocked down or secret passages put in, Miriam would do a better job than me,” Arabella says. “I just drew the plans.”

“Well, we already have the secret passages,” Joanie says with a smile. “But we’ve been wanting to add a private lounge to the top floor. And truly, Miriam, I’m glad to see you establish yourself here. I hope business goes just as well.” She rises. “The girls and I should be going. But you must come by for coffee,” Joanie adds, and kisses Miriam’s cheek. “We always love to see you.”

“Of course,” Miriam agrees. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

She walks Joanie and her girls to the door. Then her house becomes quiet, save for the crackle of the fireplace and the soft conversation between her friends in the living room.

They’ve migrated to the couches just around the fire— Aloysius has claimed the spot nearest the hearth with a finger of golden whiskey in hand, and Arabella is perched on another couch with her legs crossed underneath her. Clayton is leaning into Matthew’s side in an uncommon display of contentment, but his stare from under the brim of his still-present hat dares Miriam to comment as she enters, so she doesn’t broach the subject. She wouldn’t want to put Matthew on the spot—not when he looks at Clayton with that faint, unbelieving fondness in his eyes, in the moments when Clayton can’t see.

“I should thank you all,” she says instead, sitting down with Arabella. “It’s due to your help that I have this house.”

“Of course we helped,” Matthew says. “You’ve certainly done enough for us.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Aly agrees, lifting his glass to her.

“Still,” Miriam says. “I’m thankful—I’m very thankful—for all of you. For everything.” She looks around the circle of couches and chairs, including each of them in her gaze. Matthew smiles in return; Aly drinks to her; Clayton nods in silent recognition. And Arabella, beside her, rests a hand on hers.

It’s that touch that gives Miriam the courage to keep going. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I came to Deadwood,” she says. “I had the lie I was telling, certain goods, and very little else.” That’s not the half of it. She didn’t have a plan, barely thought to the next morning, spent every minute picturing a patch of ash for a gravestone, and she is as honest as she has ever been when she says, “I count myself very lucky that you all showed up when you did.”

“Glad to’ve been there,” Clayton says, low.

“And truly, Miriam,” Arabella says, “I think I can speak for all of us when I say we feel the same about you. You’ve helped me—you’ve helped all of us since we met. Your advice, your courage...”

Matthew nods, his gaze landing on Clayton in another of the soft, silent looks that appears and vanishes in the same instant. “You have given us some good advice.”

It had been more like goading in that particular case, but she smiles anyway. “I’m certainly happy to help.”

“And I’m thankful for it,” Matthew says, as genuine as always. “That, and all of the rest of you, too.” He looks around at Arabella and Aloysius; Miriam thinks she sees his arm tighten around Clayton, who tips his head back against Matthew’s shoulder. “You’ve done so much that you didn’t have to—helping with the church, the town... I’m eternally thankful for that.”

Rebuilding the church had taken time. Aly proved to be a dab hand at carpentry, and he’d repaired the pews and altar alongside Matthew and Clayton, who jointly managed to board up the burned-out parts of the roof. Miriam and Arabella had done most of the detail work. All in all, she thinks it came out well. The roof keeps rain off, and the walls shut out the wind, though it still gets freezing cold in the winters.

Aloysius raises his glass to all of them. “Been a long, weird road to get here, but I’m glad I stayed. Thankful to all of you for that.”

That night in the Gem, Miriam had doubted whether they’d all still be in Deadwood by sunrise. Aloysius had turned his gun on Clayton, newly healed by the Dealer and reckless with it, his eyes hard and bright in the darkness of the saloon. Clayton knocked back what might have been his last drink before pleading—as close as she’d ever heard him get to pleading—for his life. And she spoke up on his behalf, voice cracking in despair for this awful, hopeless version of her friends. It seemed like hours before Aloysius lowered the barrel of his gun.

It had taken time, after that, to return to the camaraderie they had before, but Clayton had forgiven Aloysius as soon as the gun was raised, and Miriam let herself be convinced eventually. Aloysius had probably understood. He seemed—content, in a way. He still pursued bounties, even asked them all along, but he always returned to Deadwood and joined them at the Gem. “Home,” he’d said, when she’d asked. And he’d smiled, slower than usual.

“Seems like I owe an awful lot to all of you,” Clayton says, his head still leaning on Matthew’s shoulder. “And I’m—thankful for that, I guess.”

He’s not quite the same person he used to be. It happened so subtly Miriam barely noticed, as parts of someone called Amos Kinsley began to bleed into someone who’d named himself Clayton Sharpe. He’d answered to Shrike once, and Anders, when those names were called in his hearing. And she couldn’t be certain, but he seemed happier—smiled more often, though still rarely, and learned to make the rest of them laugh. Less the stern gunslinger, and more a person with as many scars and soft spots as the rest of them.

“I know exactly what I owe to each of you,” Arabella says, barely audible above the crackle of the fire. “No one else would have helped me bury my sister again. No one else would have helped me leave my husband. Or at least, nobody did.” She looks at each of them, and when her eyes meet Miriam’s they seem to burn. “I _am_ thankful for you. I’m thankful for all of you.”

“None of you owe me anything,” Miriam says. “And if you want to, consider it already paid in full.”

“The same for me,” Matthew agrees.

She isn’t sure the other three really believe them, but it’s good enough. it’s a start.

They pass the rest of the evening quietly, discussing newcomers to town and the latest from the Bella Union and a cocktail Aly invented. It takes a while to talk it all over; they have so much to choose from and Miriam is thankful for that all over again. Aly relaxes into his chair with his leg up on the ottoman, and Matthew and Clayton remain side by side, and Arabella—well, Arabella sits with Miriam, straight-backed as always. But her weight is warm at Miriam’s side, and it makes something glow in the center of Miriam’s chest.

Aloysius excuses himself towards midnight, with a hug for each of them, and Matthew and Clayton follow close behind him, not even pretending not to be leaving together. Miriam gets a good hug from Matthew at the door. He has at least a foot on her, but he bends down enough to make up for it and wraps his arms tightly around her. “Happy housewarming,” he says.

“Thank you, Matthew,” she says, putting as much warmth in it as she can.

Matthew gives her one last squeeze and lets her go, shrugging his coat over his shoulders and opening the door. Clayton isn’t always one for touch, but when Miriam turns to him with her arms open, he sighs and steps in for a brief but solid embrace. Then they’re out the door in Aly’s wake.

After standing in the sudden quiet for a moment, she returns to the living room. Arabella has risen from the couch to stand, staring upward, beside the wide back window. Miriam stops in the doorway and looks at her. A faint plane of light washes over her face, drawing her profile against the winter night.

When she turns from the window, Miriam is startled by the smile on her face. “Miriam!” she calls. “Come here!”

And Miriam goes. She’s helpless to do anything else, faced by Arabella’s sudden joy. It’s magnetic, radiant.

When she goes to the window, she doesn’t immediately see what she’s meant to be looking at. The winter sky is beautiful, vast and full of stars, the black so crisp and pure it seems to glow. But it’s the same sky they see on every clear night. She can pick out Orion from the belt tilted sideways above the hills that cradle Deadwood. Arabella has pointed out the constellations to her before, and some planets, but she showed an easy familiarity with the night sky. Tonight it’s lovely, but Miriam sees nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would so fascinate her.

Still— “Wait,” Arabella breathes, a pocket watch lifted to eye level against the wide, starry sky. The second hand ticks onward—thirty seconds, a minute. Miriam wants to ask what she’s looking for, but Arabella hasn’t said anything, so she keeps her peace.

Then Arabella’s hand shoots out, pointing unerringly upward, and she gasps, “ _Look!_ ” For half a second Miriam doesn’t see it, and then she catches the streak of motion, a brilliant flare flashing across the sky for the briefest of moments before it winks out.

“A falling star?” she asks.

“A meteor shower,” Arabella says, and her smile is incandescent. “The Geminids. They appeared fourteen years ago, and they’ve been a little stronger every year.” She eyes her pocket watch. “They’re falling a little over every three minutes, right now.”

“Beautiful,” Miriam murmurs.

“It is,” Arabella agrees.

The pocket watch continues to tick: thirty seconds, ninety.

“How did you find out about it?”

“The Geminids?”

“Yes.”

“I saw them the first time they fell,” Arabella says, smiling. “I must’ve been nine or ten. I used to look at the sky when I couldn’t sleep, and one night there were falling stars. I thought I’d discovered them until I read about them in the back of the paper.” She laughs softly. “I was so excited. Cynthia was supportive. Even if she didn’t really understand.”

She points up again, another gasp flitting from her throat, and Miriam watches another fleck of light dart through the field of stars above them.

“We’ll see better if we turn off the lights and go outside,” she says, when the meteor has faded. She does so hate the cold, but for Arabella she’s willing. And she has a porch now, although it’s on the wrong side of the house—well, she’ll stand in the snow.

“Perfect,” Arabella says, beaming. “Let me get my coat.”

They close the curtains against the lamps and firelight and slip out the back door together. Miriam shivers against the nip of the wind, but Arabella seems perfectly at ease. Her coat hangs unbuttoned from her shoulders, and she stares upward, pocket watch in hand.

“There,” she says, and points low, above the rooftops. Miriam watches for a moment that seems to stretch forever as the meteor arcs across the sky.

“I wonder what it’ll look like in a hundred years,” Arabella murmurs. “Always a little stronger...”

“Always a little stronger,” Miriam says, barely more than thinks it. “Yes.” The silence between them stills her voice in her throat more surely than the cold.

Arabella’s watching her, soft but intent. “It seems like you have something on your mind.”

And Miriam turns to her, looks at her, at the starlight in her eyes and on her hair. She hears the pocket watch ticking, but doesn’t fear it. _Always a little stronger, every year—every moment_ , she thinks. _The both of us._

“I was thinking about what we talked about, just now,” she says. “Thankfulness.”

“What are you thankful for?”

“You,” Miriam says, and it feels like a confession already. “Since the day I met you. When you poured out your tear catcher, I thought, that’s what I need to do. You mourned your sister, you established yourself in town... you’ve done everything I wanted to do, but so bravely and so quickly, and it gave me hope.”

It had taken her a long time to feel as though she could truly lay her husband to rest. Some nights it still doesn’t feel like enough. But Arabella—flame-bright, beautiful Arabella—had always been there, forging a path Miriam couldn’t help but follow. Arabella had gone to Miriam the night she left her husband for good, and she fell asleep in Miriam’s arms even as Miriam sat up all night listening for footsteps that never came.

Arabella laughs. “I gave you hope? Miriam, aren’t you the one who told me we have our own power?”

“But you knew that already,” Miriam says. “You’ve always known it. You’ve always been stronger than I could ever dream of being. Even when I thought the world would stay awful—it’s—you’re incredible, you’re unbelievable—everything you do, Arabella, darling...”

“Miriam,” Arabella breathes, and catches both of her hands in hers. They are nearly chest to chest and Miriam swears she can feel the heat of Arabella’s skin from her open coat.

She says it softly into the space between them: “I am saved by the fact that you exist.”

Then Arabella’s lifting a hand to her cheek and leaning in, eyes searching and so sharp and beautiful they remind Miriam of cut diamonds, of meteors.

When her lips find Miriam’s, the world seems to stop.

Arabella breaks away for a moment to whisper, “You too, always, Miriam, you’re everything,” and Miriam pulls her close just to feel the silk of her breath again. She clasps Arabella’s hand in the two of hers, between their hearts, and kisses her, kisses her, kisses her.

They separate when Miriam starts shivering too hard to breathe, but they just stumble inside hand in hand and crash into each other as soon as the door has closed, and honestly, Miriam doesn’t care. It’s enough. This is enough, with Arabella in her arms, Arabella’s hands under the hem of her blouse, Arabella’s mouth blood-hot on hers.

For the first time, perhaps in a long time, she feels nothing but hope.

**Author's Note:**

> The Geminid meteor shower first appeared in 1862 and occurs on December 13-14 yearly, primarily in the northern hemisphere. It was a fairly weak meteor shower early on, but now it’s as strong as the Perseids, with two to three meteors a minute at its peak.
> 
> I’m @swallowtailed on tumblr—come say hi!


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